


scaredy cats

by caeos



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-03-29 21:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19028164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caeos/pseuds/caeos
Summary: Yamamoto reallywantsto confess to Fukunaga but actually going through with it is proving harder than he'd first thought.





	scaredy cats

**Author's Note:**

> there are only 23 fukutora fics on ao3 and even less with them as a main pairing, if i have to drag this pairing into fruition then so help me i will.

Shouhei wasn’t hard to read - hard to predict, maybe - but he wasn’t hard to read. There were chips in his fingernails where he chewed them to nubs when he was anxious, eyes wide and dilated when he was attentive, and always a faint blush at the tip of his nose when he was flustered.  
  
Though maybe that was harder for other people to see, Yamamoto doubted the rest of his team had studied their wing spiker as closely as he had. It wasn’t that he was obsessed or anything… okay maybe he was. Only a little.  
And it wasn’t through lack of trying that his big dumb crush had gone unreciprocated it’s just that Fukunaga never really had a response to his ‘confessions’. Again, that blame might fall on Yamamoto’s shoulders. Taketora’s confessions were as brazen and spontaneous as the man himself.  
  
His first attempt had just been slamming a palm aside Fukunaga’s head whilst he leaned against the gymnasium wall - absentmindedly observing Lev’s receiving practice with a curious cocked head. He’d turned to face him, slowly, one eyebrow raising almost mechanically as he started at Yamamoto, unfazed.  
  
“I-I erm,” Yamamoto stammered. That other eyebrow shot up to join the other. “Nice receiving!” He’d just kind of _yelled_ in his face.  
And it wasn’t much of a confession at that - the whole team were pretty stellar with their receives. Well, aside from their new ace wannabe.  
  
Shouhei had just nodded, once, as if he’d garnered some wonderful new insight from their one-sided conversation. More catcalling that communicating.  
Then he’d simply slid down the wall, tastefully escaping Yamamoto’s weak wall about him that had all but crumbled in resolve what with the tremor in his quivering elbow.  
  
But Taketora had learnt two things, first was that slamming walls hurt and he wouldn’t be doing it again. Secondly, Fukunaga did indeed blush. It was only slight - the very tip of his upturned nose dusted red - but it was enough for Tora to not lose hope at this endeavour.  
  
So he’d tried again, the very next day in fact.  
They’d been walking home, Taketora snarling about a game he hadn’t been able to beat or some lame basketball jock that had tried to step to him at lunchtime that day. What they talked about never mattered, as long as Shouhei was humming animatedly along with his stories.  
  
A small black cat had slipped out from the bushes beside them, rubbing up against Shouhei’s leg and purring enthusiastically.  
Admittedly this got more of a reaction from Fukunaga than Yamamoto’s ‘confession’ had, both eyebrows springing up nearly into his hairline as Fukunaga slowly knelt to scratch behind the cat’s ear.  
  
Yamamoto moved to do the same, sitting cross-legged as the cat rumbled and weaved its way back and forth between Fukunaga’s ankles. For one tragic moment Taketora realised this cat had more guts than he ever had around Shouhei, he named was after a tiger for heaven's sake and here he was being upstaged by a _kitten._  
  
_Come on, Tora, grow a backbone!_ He reached his fingers out, the cat rubbing up against his palm as he traced down behind its ears, following the length of its arched spine until his fingers tangled with another’s.  
  
Shouhei looked… as startled as Yamamoto could expect from him. But he didn’t pull away as Taketora slotted their fingers firmly together, even when the _cat_ alyst of this whole situation darted back into the bushes from whence it came. In fact, Fukunaga only moved to tilt his head sideways - as he did with most things he was trying to interpret.  
That gaze trailed up Tora’s arm, all the way to his wide, wide eyes - face glowing redder than his tracksuit.  
  
Tora leapt up, lest he embarrass himself any further, only to find himself eye to eye with Fukunaga once more. You see when you were joint at the hand that tended to happen when one of you suddenly jolts away.  
Shouhei’s eyes were wide but not in embarrassment, expectantly almost, as if he were waiting for Yamamoto’s reaction.  
  
This was it, all he had to do was tell Shouhei that he liked him. _A lot_. And he’d like to go out sometime- you know? Like _out_ out, not just like outside generally like they are now. Only if he _wanted_ to of course and if he didn’t then that was totally fine too and-  
_Argh!_  
Yamamoto turned on his heel, burying his hands deep in his pockets and storming ahead on their path home.  
  
Only his grip had tightened about the hand entwined with his own, the one dug deep in his tracksuit pocket alongside Taketora's own. Tora didn’t have the nerve to glance at Fukunaga’s reaction but as his clammy grip lessened Shouhei made no attempt to untangle their mingled fingers. He simply walked in silence as always, fingers pressed tightly to the back of Yamamoto’s hand. Tight enough that Tora could feel the rough skin where he chewed his finger tips, the jagged edges of nails he’d broken in practice today.  
  
Perhaps Fukunaga was easily to understand than he’d first thought - if he stopped translating from his list of how other people reacted and instead read Shouhei as a novel in his own right.

 ***

Then, the next day, when it was blizzarding up a storm and Yamamoto wanted nothing less than to wait in the biting cold for Fukunaga to show up - he did just that. He never showed.  
Then when Taketora got to practise, shaking the snowflakes from his neatly clipped hair, Fukunaga wasn’t there either.  
  
Tora kicked Kenma in the ribs conversationally, just hard enough to be an annoyance. “Where’s Shouhei?”  
  
“He isn’t with you?” Kenma’s brow furrowed, as if this was a statistical anomaly, before shrugging undisturbed. “Maybe he got snowed in.”  
  
And Yamamoto might have been able to believe that but they lived on the same estate and as bad as the weather was there weren’t any snowdrifts.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Kuroo slapped him upside the head as he passed, jogging a lap about the gymnasium. “He’ll be in for afternoon practice.”  
  
Maybe it was just wishful thinking, or the surety in Kuroo’s voice, but Yamamoto was quite content to believe just that  
  
The day passed as it usually did, with a detention over their morning recess for being disruptive in class. Some kids behind him had been trying to toss erasers on his mohawk like a damn landing strip, he was pleased to announce they wouldn't try that again. If they knew what was good for them.  
Or at least he’d said something like that. Right now Yamamoto was wishing he’d just spiked one of their projectiles back at them and kept his mouth shut - now he was stuck inside during one of the best snowfalls he’d seen this year.  
Whatever, as long as he was out for lunch.

***

“Yamamoto!” The last syllable of his name drawn out in a loud cry as swift footsteps caught up to him in the corridors.  
  
It was Keito-san, she’d bailed him out of a catch-up test once by promising to tutor him! _Hell yeah!_ Well, except for the fact that Yamamoto was still immensely terrified of interacting with her and had never even been able arrange for a time for them to study together.  
It wasn’t the way that Shouhei made him feel - all girls had this paralysing effect on him. Yamamoto spent most of his time surrounded by dumb volleyball jocks and girls were kind of just beautiful and intimidating enigmas that offered to tutor complete strangers so he didn’t have to stay behind after school. _So cool._  
  
_“_ K-Keito-san,” he greeted awkwardly, blaming his stutter on the cold.  
  
“Oh, erm-” she looked about the corridor with urgency before reaching in her bag and pulling out a small envelope. “Someone asked me to give you this!” Her hand slapped the letter over his chest with enough force to make him wheeze, giving her enough time to make her escape.  
  
“Thank you!” Yamamoto called out after her, though she didn’t turn around.  
  
_Strange_ , Tora thought, examining the envelope in his hand.  
It was plain, save for his name on the front and six quick dashes that Yamamoto assumed were meant to resemble cat whiskers.  
Whilst the situation in which he’d been given the letter left a lot to read into it wasn’t as if it were pink and scented - and if Keito-san wanted to confess to him he’d have appreciated it if she wooed him a little.  
Then he opened it.  
  
His name was jotted out several times, once as Yamamoto and twice as Taketora, settling on just ‘Tora’ before the letter actually began.

_‘I think your hair is ~~cool~~ very cool and it makes you look tough._  
_We don’t talk much but I think very hard about you and hope you’ll understand me. You’re loud but I l ~~ike that~~  don’t mind._  
_I like you ~~a lot~~ very much - I’m sorry I’m too scared to tell you face to face._  
_If you feel the same please meet me around the side of the gymnasium after volleyball practice - see you then, hopefully.’_

Wow- _wait._ She hadn’t signed it, but Yamamoto swore he recognised the writing, it must be Keito-san’s. They really hadn’t talked at all, he was amazed she’d been so open and honest without knowing what his response should be. Any other time and he might have been lightheaded, except for… Shouhei.  
  
It was shocking, that even now with a confession letter in his hand. His very first. And all he could think of was that ever so slight blush, those chipped nails pressed to the back of his hand - eyes bright and wide.  
  
That’s what made this situation even worse, around the gymnasium was exactly where he and Fukunaga waited for each other. Maybe he could catch him before practice and say he was going home early and not to wait for him.  
  
Suiting their team’s namesake, trying to pin down Fukunaga at practice was like trying to herd cats.  
It was like his teammates would dive in at the last second. Kai becoming liquid just so he could slither in between them before Yamamoto could tap Shouhei on the shoulder, Kuroo appearing like the grim reaper, leering over their ace as he’d tried to take one damn second out of practice to catch Fukunaga’s attention.  
It were as though they wanted Yamamoto’s love life to fall before it had even had the chance to fly.  
  
Whatever, all he had to do was change as fast as possible and finish up his meeting with Keito-san before Shouhei turned up.  
  
Taketora had never turned someone down before, he was biting his lip - half to stop his teeth from chattering and half because he felt as though he’d scream if he didn’t pin his unruly mouth shut.  
  
“Tora,” there was a light tap on his shoulder, heart leaping from his chest and not finding a beat to settle as his eyes met with the doe-eyed stare of their wing spiker.  
  
“Shouhei, sorry I-” Yamamoto looked around anxiously. “I’m kind of meeting someone now, you don’t have to wait with me tonight.”  
  
Fukunaga head cocked to the side again, almost more owl than cat, waiting for an elaboration.  
  
Yamamoto sighed, reaching inside his coat pocket for the letter. “I got this today, Keito-san confessed to me-”  
  
“No she didn’t!” Shouhei clapped his hands over his mouth, shocked at the intensity of his outburst, eyes blown wide and startled. “She didn’t confess.” He added, softer this time in that almost-whisper Taketora had come to know from him.  
  
“No she-”  
  
“I did.” He brought one hand over his mouth, Taketora could see it now, the way he’d gnaw on his fingernails when he was anxious. He wasn’t lying.  
  
“Y-you?” Yamamoto stammered, watching that blush creep from the tip of his nose and blossom across his cheeks. “You think my hair’s cool?”  
  
Fukunaga laughed, eyes lighting up as Yamamoto smiled in response - a big toothy grin as Shouhei nodded enthusiastically.  
Bringing his fingers up, slowly as ever, he ran them across the one of his short-cropped sides, making his skin prickle at the sensation on his scalp.  
Taketora was ready to just melt into the touch, practically purring as Fukunaga laced his fingers through the longer hair at the base of his skull and raked them up through his blond shock of hair.  
  
As Yamamoto’s eyes rolled back into place he saw Fukunaga leaning in purposefully, his eyes fluttering shit, just having the time to put his index finger up between their mouths.  
He felt Shouhei’s lips press to his finger, softer than he’d expected and warmer too despite the weather. Though he almost regretted it as he pulled away, confused, mouth still pressed forward into a pout.  
  
“Sorry, I-I,” Yamamoto laughed, taking a step back and rubbing the back of his neck. “I just think you’d fry my brain if you kissed me right now.”  
  
Fukunaga’s eyebrows shot up, the good kind of surprised this time as his eyes glistened, amused.  
Instead he took his wrist gently, turning Yamamoto’s hand palm upwards in the space between them. Then, with his opposing hand Shouhei slid his fingertips over Yamamoto’s palm, slotting their hands together slowly and deliberately - as if to tell Tora how much we wanted to be there.  
  
Tugging a little, Yamamoto followed his lead, walking home together hand in hand.  
They saw the cat from yesterday, curled up snugly beneath the same now snow-covered bush. Fukunaga didn’t move to pet it but he did stop.  
There was a moment or two where he and the cat just stared at each other, though Tora couldn’t tear his eyes from Shouhei’s considering expression. Blinking animatedly, he could almost hear the cogs turning in his head.   
  
Then he brought his free hand behind his head, wiggling his fingers as if imitating Kuroo’s bedhead before pointing back at the cat. Tora considered it for a second, the pitch black fur, the vacant look in its eyes and the small portion of tongue blepping out over its mouth. He doubled over in laughter, Fukunaga seemingly pleased with his comparison, his small shuddering laugh utterly drowned out by Yamamoto’s booming guffaws.  
  
It made Tora think - as he wiped away the tears at the corner off his eyes and jogged up to keep pace with Shouhei again, entwining their fingers together once more as though it were second nature - he wasn’t quite sure what he’d been so afraid of in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a special place in my heart for the rowdiest and quietest boyfriends.  
> also i'm on tumblr @ [ccaeos](https://ccaeos.tumblr.com/)!!


End file.
